4/21/2013

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I lay in bed, the glow of the streetlights radiate through my window casting a white shadow along the tapestry above my head. Why am I awake? I have class in the morning. I roll over to face the wall. Maybe it’s the streetlights. They do seem brighter than usual.

           

I shut my eyes. My mind wanders but sleep will soon arrive. My eyes become heavier, my breathing slower; focusing on the tendencies of my body just before sleep, I never realized how rhythmic my actions are. The phone rings.

           

Dammit.

           

I roll over to see who is calling. Talbot. It’s almost 1:30 in the morning and I have to be up at 7:00. I can’t talk on the phone right now. I silence the ringer and roll back over.

           

The phone rings again. Talbot. He’s probably drunk and I don’t want to deal with that. I silence the ringer and roll back over.

           

Again the phone rings. Derek. He lives in California now and I haven’t talked to him in over 4 months. I certainly don’t want to talk now. I silence the ringer and roll back over.

           

Once again the phone rings. Talbot. What is going on? I can’t ignore this sense of urgency anymore. I answer the phone.

            “Hey what’s up?”

           

I hear someone crying on the other end.

Fuck.

            “Talbot what’s up?”

           

I hear him try to collect himself as he tells me

            “Mike had a stroke.”

            “What?”

 

The only word I could manage to utter after the deliverance of such a message. He repeats it again, struggling to finish his words through the sobs.

           

I try to respond, but I can feel my throat swelling, my voice attempting to work its way through the mass that has only just appeared. I need to know more but I can’t talk.

           

          “I don’t know what happened, Mrs. Laurie just called me” he tells me, understanding perfectly my absolute silence. “It’s not good man.”

           

I don’t know what to say. My brain is grinding to a halt, focusing around the words I just heard. It’s not good man. It’s not good man.

           

Talbot tells me that his mom is calling and that he’ll call me back in a little while.

            “I love you Teej” I manage to utter before hanging up.

           

I set the phone down on the speaker next to my bed. I’m sitting up now. The thought of sleep is a distant memory.

           

My brain is locked. I can’t stop thinking but I’m not thinking at all. My mind is trying to make sense of what I had just heard. What is happening? Why can’t I move?

           

I’m dreaming. I must be. I must have fallen asleep.

           

A tear falls to my bear arm resting below on my leg. The cold splash returns me to the reality unfolding around me. This isn’t a dream.

           

I again try to move but my body doesn’t want to comply. My feet remain locked to the floor, my eyes staring straight ahead at the dark nothing in front of me. The glow from the street lights continue to shine, but they don’t seem as bright. The radiant light illuminates my tapestry, but I can hardly see it. Nothing exists.

           

I fall back on my bed, my feet still locked to the floor. I feel my throat continue to swell. I can hardly breathe. I stare up at my ceiling fan, watching the blades spin around. My vision is getting blurry.

           

I wipe my eyes to find my hands soaking wet. As if breaking the hold, tears begin to pour down my face. I sit up, trying to stop the torrent from flowing but it’s no use. The tears were first accompanied by silence, only the fan above making a slight disturbance in the deafening darkness.

 

But as they continued to fall, so did the rise of uncontrollable sobbing. My chest bounced up and down with each repetition, as if trying to free the solid mass that had become lodged in my throat.

           

I finally detach my feet from the floor and stand myself up. The change in position only makes the sobs heavier and my knees become weak. My legs collapse me back onto my bed. Standing is of no use.

           

I press my face into the pillow, trying to suppress the sound of these late night sobs. I don’t want to wake my Dad. I know that if someone hears me, they’ll want to know what is going on. I wish I could tell him. But I can hardly breathe, how would I be able to talk.

           

I need comfort, but I need to be alone. I want solace but I can’t even move.

           

I turn over to lie on my back, tears still running down my face; my chest bouncing slightly at each intermittent sob.

           

I can’t do this I tell myself. But I don’t have a choice.

           

The phone rings. Derek. I know the news now. And I know I won’t be talking for another few hours.

 

Certainly not on the phone. I silence the ringer and roll back over.